


A Just Warrior

by Philosopherscribe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Love Triangles, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Not Canon Compliant, Show Canon Ages, Spanking, Yandere Ramsay, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopherscribe/pseuds/Philosopherscribe
Summary: Reek gallantly takes a punishment for his Lady.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Jeyne Poole, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	A Just Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by Outlander and two very old fanfics called The Second Strongest Man in Asgard by thorgony and Lower Him Down (With Links of Chain) by LoupGarou1750.  
> The title is a reference to the beautiful soul/just warrior trope. 
> 
> Many thanks to Deiwimin for betaing! Thank you for encouraging me to post this thing.

He dreamt that he had a cock again, and he was that other person he used to be, a long time ago. The handsome prince. He was naked and tied to the cross in the dungeons, only this time there was no pain. Beautiful Jeyne Poole, who belonged in a fairytale and should have been born a princess, knelt before him in the darkness. The scars on her naked body shone silver. His heart skipped a beat as warm, brown eyes gazed up at him in adoration. She batted her eyelashes and licked her pink lips with a little red tongue. His length grew hard and long, and he could feel lust and pure love swell up in his chest. He ached for her mouth and hands and quim. It was disgusting of him to have such thoughts about this precious girl, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to fuck her, to make her squirm like a weasel and scream his name, to carry her off on a winged horse like some hero in a fucking song and give her the happy ending she deserved. She took him in her mouth and suckled him like he was a sweet. Small hands encircled his hips. He threw his head back, sighing in pleasure, and Jeyne twisted her tongue around the tip with a bright, mischievous smile. She was better than any whore he’d ever had. He came with a gasp and shudder, but as he spent himself down her throat, Jeyne vanished like a torch blowing out. The fucking bastard Ramsay Snow was kneeling, fully clothed in her place, pale eyes dark with malice. He stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licking wormy fingers as though his victim’s seed was the sweetest, creamiest milk in all the Dreadfort. Theon Greyjoy looked down, and felt the cold press of the flaying knife against his cock. His mouth opened in a dark, primal scream, and he woke up.

He surveyed the room with red, bleary eyes. All the aches and pains and despair he’d grown used to living with came rushing back. He was naked, as he often was, spread out like he was on the cross. But he was not in the Dreadfort or the dungeons or even the kennels. Instead, he was in the castle of Winterfell, and his wrists had been tied to the bed with a soft ribbon of pink and red. His cock was long gone, and he remembered that he wasn’t Theon, but Reek. It rhymes with weak, meek, bleak, freak, squeak, and shriek. And Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with pain. She had to be Lady Arya Bolton née Stark in order to stay alive. Reek was no man, just a shriveled, foul-smelling wreck who could never rescue her or hope to deserve her love. Only one person in the world was allowed to love him, and that was the girl’s husband. He was no bastard, never a bastard, but his master Lord Ramsay Bolton. And he did love him, more than words could tell. He said so. Often, in fact. Usually when he was above and inside his Reek on this very bed.

Reek was in the middle of a game, of that he was certain. And these bindings had to be his master’s doing. Reek slept with him here, in the quiet intimacy of his private chamber. Ramsay insisted on it, and Reek didn’t see how he could avoid it. The bed was soft, warm, and comfortable, it was a large step up from the kennels, and certainly the dungeons. And the winter winds slashed his skin like an icy flaying knife. Reek might have been left to freeze in the kennels with only his rags to cover him, but instead, he had been granted the honor of sharing his master’s bed and was most grateful for the kindness. This was a luxury never granted to his Lord’s wife. Ramsay never slept in her chamber, not even after bedding her. Still, maybe that was a blessing. There were days Reek hated this bed almost as much as the dungeons. Ramsay liked to inflict his most humiliating punishments here, when it was just the two of them. And he liked to kiss him and cradle him close afterward in a cruel parody of comfort. Poor Reek was so confused. And by night, the sound of his master’s beating heart drove him out of his mind. 

The door creaked open. Reek craned his neck, straining to see who it was. Much to his surprise, the shadow standing at the door was not Ramsay, but the object of his dearest fantasies. Reek’s heart gave a leap of fear. It was dangerous to think or feel. It was doubly dangerous to long for someone other than Ramsay. His possessive master never even allowed other people to see him naked these days, not unless he was planning to put out their eyes afterward. He snuck a peek at her through his grey eyelashes. A silver shaft of light bathed her beautiful face. She was like the crescent moon, frail and wan and delicate. The seaweed-brown hair flowing down her back gave her the look of a mermaid. 

A mermaid trapped in the jaws of a shark.

Lady Arya’s terrified eyes flickered over him, and Reek realized Ramsay had sent her here as part of the game. He must have forbidden her from talking to or touching him. His eyes fell on the thing she held in her hand. And he knew then with a sinking feeling that he had already lost the game. A crystal goblet full of fresh, sparkling water. Reek’s throat was pasty and parched. A hazy memory of the time before he knew his name surfaced, a monster from the deep. He had been tied to the cross, burning with fever, gasping and gurgling with thirst. And with a sharp smirk, his master had poured a glass of water on the floor, just to tease him with the sound of cool water hitting stone.

“Please, my lady,” he rasped, “please give me some water…” 

Lady Arya’s eyes darted to the door. But she looked at him and seemed to steel herself. Compassion shone on her face like the stars on the sea. They were both ghosts of Winterfell, they understood one another. He had never loved her more than he did at that moment. His hands were still bound, but he managed to sit up. She tiptoed over and with trembling hands held the glass to his lips. Reek lapped up the water like the dog he was. 

BAM!

The door swung open and smashed against the wall. Lady Arya let out a shrill, high scream. The glass fell from her hand to shatter on the floor. Reek wilted and sank back into the pillows. Lord Ramsay stormed into the room, his face like thunder. The garnet glittered in his ear. 

“I told you not to touch him,” he snarled at his wife, “it was your one command!” 

Lady Arya crumpled to her knees, trembling from head to foot.

“Don’t punish her, m’lord,” Reek whimpered. “Please!” 

“Say please again and I’ll pull out your tongue,” Ramsay said lazily, and turned back to his wife. “You will return to your chamber and present yourself for punishment. Don’t worry—just thirty lashes and a hard buggering. I know you’ll survive it.”

Lady Arya squealed in terror, and Reek interrupted: “No, m’lord! It was my mistake, I begged her. And you need her to give you sons, strong, healthy sons. Let me take her punishment instead.” 

His Lord’s face lit up. “Well, if you absolutely insist,” he said, so quickly that Reek realized that had been his intention all along. 

Ramsay waved his wife away. “Get out and shut the door behind you. Reek and I have much to discuss.” 

Lady Arya fled, but not before turning around and mouthing behind Ramsay’s back: Thank you! 

Ramsay untied him and gently massaged his thin, brittle wrists. Reek groaned as he felt the blood return to his hands. The punishment would be awful, as always. But far away in the back of his mind, Theon was determined to take it and protect his Lady if he could. And he could take it. Ramsay had whipped and fucked his Reek many more times than his wife. In fact, he’d fucked him in every inch of this room.

Ramsay’s face had softened. He was always happy to see his pet. “Reek. You’re a gallant little thing, aren’t you? I think you deserve a treat.” 

Reek hated treats.

“I’m going to let you choose your punishment: Thirty with the whip or fifty with my hand?”

The wrong answer could cost him another finger. 

“Your hand, m’lord,” Reek said at last, “I want to feel your hand on me.” 

That seemed to please his master immensely, and he seated himself on the edge of the bed, patting his lap. 

“Over my knees, Reek. Now!” The words were said sternly, but pale eyes flashed with anticipation. 

Reek gingerly crawled over and obeyed, settling himself as comfortably as possible over his Lord’s lap. His distended stomach stretched between his master’s spread thighs.

When Ramsay spanked him, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as being flayed, but there was a certain dignity in being subject to the Bolton tradition. To be flayed was to be martyred. Everyone knew how painful a flaying was, and when Ramsay took a knife to him, even some of his Boys gave him looks of sympathy. When Ramsay spanked him, however, it was a very different story. All the servants laughed at the sight of poor Reek, sniveling and tearful, splayed in a ridiculous position with a bare bottom over his master’s lap. And in a way, it really was absurd, even to Reek. This man had flayed him and raped him and taken his cock, but somehow it was the hand spankings over his lap that finally broke him. 

_Let them laugh. A laugh has no power to hurt you once you have known the kiss of the flaying knife._ That was something he had to keep telling himself in order to survive. 

A warm, fleshy hand fondled his thin, flat, wasted white buttocks. Reek was so translucent and starved for touch that the clammy caresses felt very good against his skin.

“You’re such a gallant thing that if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to steal my wife from me. Too bad you have no cock to please her with,” Ramsay said jovially, “And imagine if she could see you now. Bent over your master’s lap like a naughty child, waiting for me to chastise your bottom. Do you really think she’d want you if she could see you like this? Do you really think she’d look at you and see her knight in shining armor?” 

“No, m’lord, of course not,” Reek said sadly. 

He could feel the swell of his Lord’s long, thick cock against his stomach. 

“You should be grateful I didn’t make her watch. This is our special time,” his master continued.

The caresses turned to soft pats and playful pinches.

“I could flay off your bottom and make a drum out of it,” Lord Ramsay said thoughtfully, “or a steak. But I have better use for you.” 

Reek turned and gave him a strange look. He had a fleeting mental image of his master sipping a glass of blood-red wine and dining on his buttocks with a knife and fork on a silver plate. His master stared down at him, pale eyes heated and gloating and hungry, ravenous. Reek flopped back down, feeling his face flush. 

“W-Whatever you wish, m’lord.”

That made his master laugh. “Count for me,” he commanded. “Miss a number, and I will add extra punishment.” 

The first strike landed on his right buttock.

“One.”

The second was just as hard on his left.

“Two.”

The third was over the tops of both and made his buttocks jiggle. 

“Three!” 

Ramsay fell into a rhythm. Reek had always marveled at his master’s strength. He was resigned to the fact that his bottom would be the Bolton colors, pink and red, by the end of this ordeal. Reek moaned his way into the tens and twenties and thirties. His Lord knew his body well, and the sound of the blows lulled him. He wriggled in time to the spanking and his master’s other hand pressed down on his back warningly. The threat was oddly grounding. Drops of cream began to collect in the space between his legs and soon he was warm and open and slippery with it. Tears of shame pricked at his eyes and spilled over his cheeks. His little cries and groans only served to inflame his master and make the slaps harder. Several landed on his thighs, reminding him why his name rhymes with squeak and shriek. 

When they were done with forty spanks, Lord Ramsay stopped and tenderly stroked the glowing red cheeks. They were hot to the touch, like the embers in the fireplace. His other hand softly petted his hair and soothed down his bare back. He whispered sweet words of praise in his ear, telling him what a good boy he was, what a naughty boy he was, and how well he was taking his punishment. Reek was grateful for the reprieve and gradually found himself surrendering to comfort. 

His Lord’s hand slithered between his legs to tease the sopping wet space there. 

“Sweetling, I know,” his master crooned, “you’re my bitch, not a prince or a Lord or a hero of any tale. And certainly not my wife’s shining knight. You need me to take care of you.”

A thick finger stole between his cheeks and lightly traced his entrance.

“We’re almost done, sweetling! The last ten will be over your pussy and then it will be all over.”

Lord Ramsay often referred to his Reek’s entrance as a pussy. The pain of the spanks over his hole and the sensitive nerves around it made him miss a count twice, so his master added five extra slaps to his punishment. Reek took them all like a good boy, legs spread to show his master everything. 

Ramsay pulled him up on his lap. Reek buried his face in his broad chest and cried quietly. The tears left a patch of water on his Lord’s fine clothing. He’d punish him for it later, Reek was sure of it. His master palmed his buttocks and spun him around so that his hard cock was pressed between them.

“Now how do we thank our master?” He cooed in his ear. 

“Thank you for sparing the Lady, m’lord. And for giving me her punishment,” Reek said and kissed him.

Ramsay’s lips were luscious and sweet, they tasted of mulled wine and cloves. In the back of his head, Theon complained they were like two worms fucking. But that was strangely fitting, Reek retorted. Reek was a worm in human skin, so in a way he and his master were two worms fucking. 

They broke apart, his Lord was blushing the pink and red color of roses and breathing hard like he’d been out hunting in the forest. “Now tell me something, Reek.” 

The words were said in a gentle tone, but something in them made him jerk his eyes open. 

“Tell me how you wish to make your master a cuckold.” 

“I-I do not understand, m’lord.” 

In a swift movement, Ramsay grabbed his balls and squeezed them hard.

“You want to fuck my wife.”

_He knows, he always knows. My master is a God who knows everything._

“I care for her, m’lord. She is your wife and I live to serve you…” 

Ramsay began to jerk him off roughly. “She gives you an itch, doesn’t she? In that phantom cock of yours. And you’re a slut. You can’t control your phantom cock any more than you could your real one.”

_What am I supposed to say to that? Forgive me, Jeyne._

“I’m sorry, m’lord. She is so beautiful that I can’t help it...I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her hard!” 

The strokes on his scar instantly became gentler. “Good boy.”

“I’m a bitch in heat and I want to make you a cuckold, m’lord,” Reek wailed, “I want to have her in all the ways you have me and more.”

Silver eyes blazed, ice and full of fire at the same time. “Look at me and fucking tell me what you’d do to my wife if you still had a cock.”

“I’d fuck her here on your bed. I’d fucking spear her on my cock and pound her into the mattress!”

“You’d plant a son between her legs, wouldn’t you? Several sons. And soon we’d have a whole castle of bastard Snows running around.” 

The word made him flinch, but his master grabbed his greasy white hair and forced him to meet his wild eyes. “Y-yes.” 

Ramsay drew back with an ugly sneer. “Well, we all want what we can’t have, but you’re not a man, Reek. I am your man. And you’re just a cockless coward. You belong to me, not to my wife. And if you even look at her without my permission I’ll rape her to death and make you clean out her cunt with your tongue afterward.” 

The words felt like a flaying knife, lodged and twisted in his heart. Reek broke into a cold sweat, it made him smell rather worse than usual but he didn’t care. Surely that was an empty threat. His Lord father Roose Bolton would have his hide if he did anything like that. Not to mention the Starks. But when he was in a rage, his Lord was like a feral dog. He was capable of anything. Reek had learned that lesson the hard way, finger by finger and toe by toe. Strip of skin by strip of skin.

“Stop pining for her, sweetling. Or what I’ve done to you will be a simple thumb screwing compared to what I’ll do to her.” 

His master was feeling insecure and these were dangerous waters.

“I love her only because I love you, m’lord, I promise,” Reek said carefully, “I only want to kiss her because I can taste your seed on her lips and cunt. I want you to myself and I want you to...chastise my bottom and I get jealous of her every time you punish her instead of me.”

“And it is the same for her,” he added for good measure, “we both crave your attention, m’lord. We seek you in each other and vie for your affection. We need you to take us in hand!”

These were barefaced lies and they both knew it. Reek and the Lady weren’t fighting over Ramsay any more than Reek and Ramsay were fighting over her. But his master was a liar himself and the lies seemed to amuse him, for he pulled him closer with a soft smile. “Cum for me, then! Cum on my lap.” 

Reek had a fleeting vision of Lady Arya’s cold, winsome, haunting face swimming before him as he closed his eyes and spilled like a hot spring in the godswood all over Ramsay’s hand. 

Ramsay ran a thumb across Reek’s mouth, smearing the seed over flayed lips and kissed him. He kissed him like he was still a man unwed and they were alone together in the dungeons. He kissed him like he desperately sought to make his Reek forget Jeyne Poole, alias Lady Arya Bolton. The girl who dared come between them.

“What’s her power?” Ramsay asked suddenly, his piercing gaze trained on Reek’s face, “One wife is much the same as another. A mere plaything with teats and a cunny…What’s so special about this one? What do you see in her that you don’t see in me?”

Reek was silent.

“Right. Hands and knees on the bed, sweetling.”

Reek obeyed and pushed his bottom up, just the way his Lord liked it. The soft bed felt very good against his knees. Ramsay disrobed and knelt behind him. His master’s fat, pink and red cock felt like a giant earthworm burrowing into his bottom and trying to make a home there. Ramsay cradled his Reek’s fragile, bony hips in his hands, and spanked his buttocks hard to highlight the thrusts. He felt his master shudder as he came deep inside his Reek. When he was done he gathered Reek in his arms and spooned him from behind, his punished backside pressed against his master’s groin. He mouthed tenderly at Reek’s neck, lips finding the pulse and placing soft kisses there. Sharp teeth latched on and sank into the flesh to claim it.

“You are mine, and I am yours, and we need no one else,” Lord Ramsay declared and closed his eyes. A leg and arm wrapped around his Reek, the embrace fiercely protective but suffocating. The monster was afraid his beloved prisoner would leave him. Reek waited patiently until his body went slack and he had fallen asleep. 

Underneath him, poor Reek was almost squashed. Ramsay played with his hopes all the time and he had long given up hope that he would escape. But for the first time in a while, he felt his heart flutter. Almost as if it had wings.

Another day, another game, and he and his Lady had both survived. And Reek was still quite thirsty. He’d have to ask the Lady to sneak him some water when his master finally left him alone. Something about this game left him with a strange, sweet ache. It sparked his sore bottom and the stabbing pain in his hole with something rich and forbidden. He felt naughty. He needed his master to spank him again. Reek was an unfaithful whore and a Turncloak, he deserved every one of the sharp spanks his master had given him. He had betrayed both the Starks and the ironborn for his master, and now he could not even stay faithful to him. For in his heart, Theon Greyjoy longed for the bastard Ramsay Snow’s wife, the steward’s daughter and damsel-in-distress Jeyne Poole. The brave, kind, beautiful soul who looked to him for rescue and made him feel like a man again. A just warrior. He was going to make his Lord a cuckold, in more ways than one. And he was unable to stop, even after his Lord had finished marking him in the most intimate ways at the thought of him taking the Lady to bed.

  
  



End file.
